Not Peter and Wendy
by Kepleky
Summary: A young boy wishes to know the truth about how his mother came to ensnare and marry the infamous Peter Pan. He will find out more than he's hoping for as his mother, Emma- the great granddaughter of Wendy, decides to tell their story. Set in 1954; Peter and Emma live in Kensington Park Gardens, where it all began. Disclaimer; I do not own these characters except for my OC's.
1. Character List and Background

Composed here is a list of characters and their relations so there is no confusion with the story.

 _Disclaimer: These characters are not my property and are used in the fun of fanfic. OC's are posted on my profile, along with which story they coincide with._

 _Rating: Some Mature Content._

 **The story takes place in 1954 with flashbacks to 1941. Peter and Emma's son is 6 years old. These are the characters and their birth dates in reference to the time period.**

Peter "Pan" Branden (Born ?)

Wendy Moira "Angela" Darling-Banning [Late Husband's Name] (Born 1877)

Jane Johnson- Wendy's Daughter (Born 1905)

Emma Johnson-Branden- Jane's Daughter/Peter's Wife (Born 1926)

James Branden- Emma and Peter's son (Born 1948)

 **Author's Note:**

 **In** _ **this**_ **Peter Pan universe, Wendy is often referred to as "Gran/Grandma Angie/Great Grandma Angie".**

 **Peter is the owner of a major appliance store, and Emma is a stay at home mother with a writing aspiration. They live in London England, 31 Kensington Park Gardens; an old family home where Wendy Darling and her brothers grew up. While Jane Darling briefly moved across the sea during WWI, and stayed a few years after the war had ended, she moved back to London with her American husband, Warden Johnson. She had experienced Neverland only once, right before her venture to America. From then they had their only daughter Emma. And Emma had her first son James many years later.**

 **Please keep an open mind as I take you through a journey unlike any other Pan story you know.**


	2. A Prelude

**Prelude: A Boy and His Mother**

A small, lanky boy of 6 bounced into his room, his reddish messy hair flopping across his forehead and his pajama pants falling past his waistline. He hoisted them up with every skip and jump. And soon he tired himself out enough that he flopped onto the bed, his arms outstretched and his face flat against the bed sheets. He breathed in the fresh scent of ginger, turning his face towards the bedside table and peeking past the comforter with one uncovered eye, taking note of the fresh cookies sitting on the table top. Beside it was a tall glass of water, the ice slowly melting in the sweltering summer heat. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow.

A tall, thin woman in a long robe entered the room, a glass of ice in her hand. She walked past her son, flat on his mattress, and over to the glorious two door window at the edge of the room. She set the glass of ice down on the seat embedded into the window pane, and leaned over it to unlock the doors. With two hands, she pushed the windows open wide, and a cool breeze flowed in. Turning around, she picked the glass up and scurried over to her son. She set the glass beside the full one of water and sat down on on the bed next to him.

The boy rolled onto his back as his mother went in to tickle him, shielding himself with his arms wrapped around his abdomen. "Mum, no!" he chuckled, pushing her eager hands aside. The woman, whose strawberry blonde hair was wrapped up tightly in a bun withdrew, her eyes squinting with her large smile.

"Come on, now James. Time for bed. I've brought you some ice cubes to refresh your water." Her half American half English accent was hard to place sometimes, but you could certainly displace it from her son's. This was what she got from being raised in a household where accents feuded.

The boy pushed himself to sit up. "Mum, _I_ talked to Mitch Cooper today at school and he told me that Peter Pan never grew up!" he whined.

His mother grimaced. She brushed back his sticky hair that was flat on his forehead and damp with sweat. "Why do you listen to Mitch Cooper? I don't think he knows any more of what's true than the next person."

James huffed, crawling under his blankets and pulling them up to his chest. "But _you_ said dad was Peter Pan! And that he did grow up! And stupid Mitch Cooper said that Wendy Darling couldn't get him to grow up!" He looked crushed. For most of his life, he grew up believing that his father, store manager Peter Branden was the infamous 'boy who wouldn't grow up'. When he gloated about it in school, most of the children went along with it, but these days the boys at the preparatory questioned him, especially Mitch Cooper. The blonde sighed almost as simultaneously as her son, and she nudged him over in bed. She threw her arm around his shoulders and flipped her legs up on the bed. She crossed her heels.

"Well, that's right, love. Wendy couldn't make him grow up. He wasn't ready then," she explained, kissing his temple.

"But then I told Mitch that you did, mum. I said 'me mum is the one who made Peter Pan grow big and strong into a man!' and he laughed at me." James wrapped his arm across his mother, tears pricking at his eyes. You could tell that this surely hurt the boy, and his friend had embarrassed him.

She kissed his head three more times and squeezed him to her tightly. "Well, that boy doesn't know a thing, James. Your father wasn't ready for a long time to grow up. Don't listen to that fool, darling." They sat in silence for a minute after. She wiped away the tears from his wet cheeks and scratched the top of his head and behind his ears. Their dog, a large German Shepherd named Cleopatra, strode into the room, and began to howl quietly when she caught the sight of James' tears. She padded around the room, strutting playfully and jumping from side to side. Both James and his mother giggled childishly. Cleo would do this whenever she sensed sadness in the house. She was a good dog that way.

"C'mere Cleopatra," James cooed. The dog hopped onto the foot of the bed, bouncing the pair that was already sitting on it. They both pet her with their toes. "Mum, can you tell me how you and papa met, so I can tell that Mitch Cooper the truth, and he can believe me?"

"Well if you hold on a minute I was gonna get to it!" she teased, poking his sides. James' eyes were gleaming and hopeful, no longer full of tears. That was the best part about being little; you usually forgot what was making you so sad so fast. His mother got up and walked to the other side of the room, dragging the rocking chair across the wooden floors to the edge of the bed. She laid the blanket that hung over the back of it along the arms, and sat down, wrapping the ends of it around her legs.

"Mum, tell me!" he crooned, tired of waiting any longer. She put her finger to her lips and hushed him, smiling underneath it. Cleopatra's head perked up and she cocked her head to the side, knowing she was about to be told a story- one of her many favorite things.

His mother cleared her throat and began. "Well, first off, I was fifteen. Older than you, love. And I had been sweet on a boy from school. His name was Willie…"

"Willie!" James exclaimed, his smile growing, exposing a few gaps where some baby teeth had fallen out. "What kind of tosser has a name like Willie!" He laughed and held his sides, already entertained by his mother's story.

She raised a brow at him and hushed him again. "Not everyone has a gift of a great name, James. Why, look at that Mitch fellow you mentioned…" she teased. Her son waved his hand at her and urged her to go on. He was now moving to lay on his stomach, his chin propped up under his fists, and his eyes wide, aglow with wonder. "Anyways," she continued. "It was… hmm.. 1941. I was fifteen, and terribly bored with my life…"


	3. Chapter One: Christopher Columbus

A chipper wind nearly blew up her petticoat. With a quick hand, she flattened her dress out against her leg, glancing to her right to make sure her gentleman friend hadn't almost witnessed something indecent. Her hair was wild, curls framing her delicate face, the strawberry blonde tendrils pinned up all over her head. Her dress was emerald, with a thick brown belt that clasped together at the back, and a small, waist length red jacket with embroidered roses on the collar. Her friend walked, with his hands deep in his pockets of his khakis, his button up shirt peeking through his shrubby brown jacket.

"So, Emma…" he piped up after some awkward silence down the road. "Did you like the flick?" he asked. Behind them, the marquee was still shining bright and crowds continued to bustle in. It always shocked Emma that couples would go to late movies, or the fact that the theaters continued to show flicks so late. It was already 9 PM. Ever since these major motion pictures came out, teens were dragging their dates to them, hoping it would greater their chances of going steady. Tonight they were showing American flicks, which Emma appreciated given her father's background. And Willie had given her the choice of a few. Of course the choices he gave were _not_ anything like what she wanted to watch, but it wouldn't be proper for her to see a Western with a boy on a date. So instead, they saw a movie called _Rebecca_ , directed by a man called Alfred Hitchcock. She'd heard so many rumors about him from her father, but hadn't seen what everyone else saw when she watched this movie. It was drab, and at some points, a little to risque for her to watch alongside Willie.

She brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. "Yea. I mean I've only ever seen a few flicks before. They get expensive going from time to time. But I could've seen worse…" she admitted awkwardly. The boy tried to smile in return. He was dark haired, skinny with glasses. Not all that attractive at hindsight. But he had a decent personality and played soccer for his all boys academy. The sweet London air grew cooler by the minute, and Willie found himself removing his jacket to drape it over Emma's shoulders.

She sighed quietly. Her nights to come would end this way from now on; with Willie walking her home after a date, and an awkward conversation about a flick or dinner or upcoming school mixers.

The walk home was long and hushed, and Willie tried a few times to take hold of Emma's hand, brushing against it with every step he took. He whistled a tune for some of the distance but stopped as they neared Kensington Park. "Do you want me to walk you to your door, Em?" He asked, his limey accent thick on every word. Emma winced. She _hated_ when people referred to her as 'Em'. It sounded so gross and didn't suit her well at all.

"No, Willie, that's fine. I'm not feeling well anyway so I think I might walk alone from here. But thank you," she evaded, removing his jacket from her shoulders. She handed it back to him. Any excuse to get away from him before he tried to plant a kiss on her was good enough excuse for her. She had been on a handful of dates with him so far and managed to avoid most of the post-date goodnight kisses, but had let him do it maybe twice. Both times were tight lipped and quick, and it felt like he was pecking at her face like a bird. It was quite unappealing and she didn't know why so many adults did it all the time.

As the boy went in for what was probably a smooch, Emma wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, thanking him for her evening before she released. "Will you be at my soccer game on Monday?" He asked, just as she began to hurry away.

"Sure," she agreed regrettably. "If my mother will lend me the quid for the ticket." They parted ways and Emma wrapped her arms across her. She walked through the rows of bushes and cherry trees until she reached her home, lined up and squeezed just between numbers 30 and 32. She kicked off her pumps and leaned down to swoop them up before clambering up her steps to the door. When she entered, the house smelled of ginger. She breathed in deeply. _Oh how good to be home_ , she thought.

From the kitchen, her mother appeared. Short auburn hair to her chin, and tucked behind her ears, her mother's eyes squinted under her bangs. "Emma, dear, is that you?" She called walking into the foyer. She had her apron on, covered in flour and icing. Emma's parents owned a bakery not far from their home. It was called _'Jane and Sheldon's Sweets'._ For as long as she could remember, her mother was baking constantly. Her father handled most of the finances, for he also worked as a financial consultant at the bank as well.

Emma removed her waistcoat and hung it over her arm, moving to the stairs as her mother caught her. "Yes mother I'm home," she answered.

Jane leaned against the front door with her arms crossed. "So… how was your date?" She asked, cocking a brow. Jane never approved of Willie. Not that he wasn't a nice boy, but she never thought him good enough for Emma. And she swore he was making her older and way past her years. She feared that her daughter was growing up too fast.

The blonde rolled her eyes and glared expectantly at her mother. "It was fine. Not my favorite film, to say the least, but Willie was divine," she lied. Jane scoffed and slapped a hand down on her apron.

"Emma, love, he's awfully drab. You'll want someone more exciting than that!" She told her, pushing herself off of the front door.

Her daughter rolled her eyes and began heading up the stairs. "Not _this_ again mother. You're delusional!"

"Dear, _he's real_ ," she pleaded. "Peter will come see you soon enough just as he came for me and for Gran Angie before!" She headed toward the foot of the stairs to keep view of her daughter.

"Please mother! You're embarrassing yourself! Uncle Danny says you'll never let this fairytale go!" She whined. She began stomping up the stairs in disgrace. Every time she went on a date these days her mother had to go on about a fairytale boy who she and her Grandmother had visit them as children. She had heard the stories for years of her life. How a boy called Pan would fly into children's windows and whisk them away to a world where no one would ever grow up. And he had a band of lost boys who followed him anywhere he went. They played with swords carelessly and jumped off of cliffs and played roulette with arrows. In short, they were barbarian children who grew more and more careless as their days in 'Neverland' continued.

Emma trudged to her room and threw her shoes into her shoe trunk, which was open and disorganized. Boots, pumps and tennis shoes filled the trunk to the top. She began to unbuckle her belt as her mother entered the room-without knocking, as usual. Jane walked up behind Emma and began assisting her trembling fingers with unhooking her belt. "Your uncle Danny is a numpty. Peter stayed with us for at least a whole year with Tootles before he ran back off to Neverland and left poor Tootles behind with Gran Angie."

Emma ripped the belt from her mother's fingers and strode to the closet to hang it up. She began unbuttoning her dress, and let it fall to the floor, exposing her slip.

Jane gasped. "Emma! Where in heavens did you get that slip! It looks way beyond your years!" She observed. "You've hardly turned 16!"

"Don't throw a paddy, mother!" She scolded. "I'm becoming a woman whether you like it or not. I'll be grown up soon…" she preached confidently. Emma removed her slip and replaced it with a strappy pale yellow nightgown that reached just below her knees.

Jane watched her daughter thoughtfully and somberly. She would never understand why she wanted to grow up so badly. Then again, Jane had been the same way at a much younger age. But after her encounter with Pan and his short time staying with her, she decided she wanted to enjoy her youth. Peter only stayed with them just short of a year when Wendy convinced him and another lost boy to stay and she would care for them. Jane always believed he did it because he loved Wendy, more as a mother then, than before when she was 14. But he began to act out, and soon Jane and Danny and Tootles were surprised to find him gone, slipped away back to Neverland in the night. He did not leave a note, for he could hardly read or write. And Wendy never swore she never saw him again after that, though he had visited her frequently throughout her youth before that.

"Dear, your father and I don't mind if you stay a child a bit longer…" she said, lingering behind her. Emma crawled into bed and grabbed a book off of her bedside table.

She opened it and put her reading glasses on, resting the book on her knees, close to her chest. She peered over at her mother. "Please, mom. I'd like to just read a bit then go to bed."

"You don't want to stay up a little later? It _is_ the weekend. You don't have to go to sleep already! We could play a game… or I've baked some cookies we could eat together. Oh! I could tell you a story!" Jane exclaimed.

Emma huffed. "No, I'd like to simply go to sleep. I haven't been read a story in over 3 years. I'm too grown up for them now," she protested, keeping her eyes stuck in her book. Jane went to object and offer another fun activity but she held her tongue, disappointed with her daughter's lack of interest. Instead, she walked over to her, kissed her hairline, and left the room silently.

And when she did, Emma relaxed. She took off her reading glasses and put her book and the glasses back on the side table. She inched down in bed and leaned over the side to retrieve a flashlight and a map of the world that were shoved behind her headboard. _This_ is why she wanted to grow up: so she could travel the world and see everywhere there was so see. She wanted to be like Christopher Columbus, and discover new places, not be stuck behind a desk as a receptionist answering phones for a man. She shone the flashlight on all of Europe, then over to America, where her father came from. _New Jersey._ She'd wondered what America would be like. She'd heard it was full of opportunity. They already had some of the best filmmakers and musicians.

And she fell asleep. She dreamt of America, visiting New Jersey where her father's family would be. She dreamt of meeting all sorts of people, and finding a new world. The world she discovered in her dreams was vast, steep cliffs, caves and coves, jungles and woodlands. And There were mermaids, and pirates, and fairies, and a boy...


	4. Chapter Two: Where It all Began

Sun beamed through the large two door window. The rays warmed Emma's comforter. She was beneath it, almost totally covered except for her feet poking out at the foot of her bed. A soft patter of feet pranced into the room and a wet nose rustled under the blanket until it reached Emma's petite nose. She swatted at at but a long slimy tongue met her hand as she did so. She threw the blankets off of her and they flopped onto the floor, over top of the small furry animal that tried to wake her. She stretched and yawned, her curly hair falling past her shoulders in a wild mess. She stood shakily from the bed just as the furry creature escaped the blanket encasing. The small Saint Bernard puppy nipped at her toes.

"Nana III! Ouch, stop that," Emma crooned, leaning down to swoop up the dog. She cuddled the fuzzy pup close to her chest, kissing behind its ears. She walked over to her vanity and set the dog on the counter momentarily. She removed a red ribbon from one of the drawers in the vanity and wrapped and tied it around her head, holding the curls out of her eyes and keeping her hair behind her shoulders. She snagged Nana III again and left her room, her own bare feet now padding down the hall and descending down the stairs. The house smelled like bacon now, no longer ginger, and that mildly upset Emma. It was her favorite smell, and her friends at school often told her she smelled of it herself, though she never noticed.

Her mother was sitting at the breakfast table, the newspaper wide open and flat on the table top. Jane chewed worriedly on her pinky finger with her eyes transfixed to an article, and her other hand wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee. She didn't even notice Emma enter with the dog. Emma poured herself a glass of orange juice and sat at the table with Nana on her lap.

Jane looked up, finally realizing her daughter there. "Oh, Emma dear. I didn't hear you enter. I'll make you a plate," she said absentmindedly.

The blonde shook her head and waved her hand. "No, that's alright mom. I'll do it in a minute." She glanced at the newspaper as she said so.

Jane sighed. "Hmm, alright." She took another moment or two before speaking again. "It seems the European Axis has decided to invade the Soviet Union… sometimes I fear for this world," she said, taking a long drink of her coffee and continuing to read. Nana wriggled out of Emma's lap at she stood. She headed toward the stove, where bacon and eggs sat in their pans, waiting to be served.

"Where's father?" she asked, scooping some eggs onto her plate, and glancing over her shoulder. Jane didn't answer. She was obviously distracted and worried about what she was reading in the paper. She had already been a child during the first world war, and it costed her her father unfortunately. Her mother remarried, of course, but it wasn't the same. "Um, mother…" she called again, and this time Jane turned around. "Where's father this morning?" she repeated.

"Oh, he's picking up Grandma Angie and Tootles. Her nurse phoned two days ago and said she's been having some trouble lately and wanted to come spend time with us, so I told her that she could come stay here," Jane replied, turning back around and folding up the paper. She stood with it and walked to the trashcan. Stepping on the pedal, the lid opened and she dropped paper into the can. "Won't want Grandma Angie seeing this. Would upset her, wouldn't it?" she said, forcing a smile.

Emma nodded, smiling back. She went back to the table and sat to eat. Across the kitchen, Nana III crazily slobbered up her food, making a total mess. Jane leaned over to the pup and scratched behind her ears as she took her apron off the wall hanger. Wrapping it around her waist, she went to the oven. She slid on some mittens and opened the oven. _There it was; the ginger smell_ , Emma thought happily, closing her eyes and savoring the splendor. Her eggs tasted just like fresh cookies, the smell confusing her taste buds. Jane removed a tray full of cookies and set them on a cooling rack.

The door from the foyer squeaked open and wheels were heard scratching across the hardwood. Jane hurried and fanned the cookies off briefly before running out of the kitchen. Emma continued to eat her breakfast and took pleasure in observing Nana. Her father, a tall blonde man with a mustache and square glassed wheeled in an old lady in a chair, her hair silver with curls and her eyes soft and surrounded by wrinkles. She looked wonderful, even in her old age. She was dressed finely, and had two pearls hanging loosely from her drooping ears. Emma stood, and raced to her. "Gran Angie!" she hollered, wrapping her arms around her grandmother's frail neck. Jane entered behind them arm-in-arm with a plump 37 year old man, who's curly hair was beginning to look salt and pepper. They walked around the two embracing along with Sheldon, Emma's father, and they all sat at the kitchen table.

The old lady shakily grasped her granddaughter's shoulders and held her a bit away, as far as the chair would allow her. "My goodness, look at you love. Such a grown woman you've become." She glanced at Jane, who was somber. She touched Emma's cheek. "Wheel this old lady to the kitchen table, would you, dear?" she asked. Emma complied, sitting her grandmother next to her mother. She walked by Tootles, planting a kiss on his cheek. He blushed but kept quiet, as per usual.

Emma began walking from the room when her mother stopped her. "Uhm, Emma! Where are you going?"

The blonde spun around. "Well… I was going to get dressed, and then… I'm not sure, perhaps go for a walk with Nana III. Is that okay?" she asked, lingering in the doorway.

"Sure, honey, but when you're done dressing, why don't you take your grandmother along? Walk her through the gardens. We have to make up the spare room," Jane offered, the room growing silent. Emma nodded, and smiled at her grandmother. She hadn't seen her for a little over a year, what with her busy schedule, but she always loved spending time with Grandma Angie, so she didn't mind. It gave them time to catch up.

Emma raced up the stairs, finding a mid-length yellow sundress, and paired it with white tennis shoes. She leaned over her vanity for the second time this morning, adjusting her ribbon. She pinched her cheeks to give them a bit of color, but noticed, strangely, in the mirror that her window was open slightly. She spun around to face it. Emma hadn't remembered it being open this morning. She walked over to it and leaned over the window seat, pulling it shut. Perhaps the latch was loose, or maybe she just hadn't latched it properly in the first place. She took a moment to peer out the window, down below to the street infront of 31 Kensington Park Gardens. It was beautiful out, a nice June morning.

She went back to the mirror to take one last look, agreeing to herself that her curls looked best when they were wild and hanging loosely. Emma strode down the stairs and was met in the foyer by her grandmother alone in her chair with Nana III sitting on her lap, nipping at her ears. "I told Jane to leave me here and I'd wait for you. She's so concerned. I told her an old lady like me would be just fine," she said, pushing the pup down. Emma took Nana's leash off of the coat hanger and clipped it to her collar, then handed it to her grandmother. She opened the front door, and began wheeling the old woman out.

She pushed her grandmother and Nana down the road, passing all the trees and shrubbery to be seen. They walked around the corner, observing empty lots where homes used to be. Grandma Angie told Emma about how she used to have friends that lived on those lots, and that their houses were large and extravagant almost fifty years ago. It was strange to imagine, because there had never been houses as long as Emma lived in London. Nana was especially calm, which was unlike her. It must've been the fresh air she was enjoying that sedated her.

They rounded another block, and the summer heat began to cool as clouds passed talked about what Emma was learning in school, and about her recent dates with even talked about some American flicks, which to Emma's surprise, her grandmother had seen. Apparently her and Tootles would go to flicks with her nurse often. Grandma Angie asked the girl why she wanted to grow up so fast, obviously having been talked to by Jane. She told her granddaughter she wasn't asking to try and convince her otherwise, but just to understand why growing up was so important to her. She told her about Jane as well, and how badly she used to want to be a lady and have a family of her own; how she used to dictate to her brother Danny as if he were her own son. They talked for blocks, stopping to let Nana III relieve herself a few times and soon, they came to a park bench not far from Kensington. She wheeled Angie next to the bench and sat by her, releasing Nana so that she could chase some pigeons. They laughed at the pup's playfulness as she chased the birds, then ran from them when they chased her back.

"Emma," her grandmother said suddenly. "Did you know that my real name is Wendy?" she asked.

Emma rolled her eyes a little, but didn't make it obvious. "Yes, gran, I knew that. Wendy Moira Angela Banning."

"Darling," her grandmother said.

"Yes, gran?" Emma replied. Grandma Angie laughed.

"No, dear. My name is Wendy Moira Angela Darling. That's my unmarried name." Wendy smiled. Emma's brows raised. She had no idea. She never inquired as to her grandmother's maiden name, simply because it never came up. Grandpa Banning had died some years before, when Emma was little, and it never occurred to her that Wendy might be her own person. Plus, she had called her grandmother Gran Angie for so long, and so did her mother, Jane.

"Gran, why does mother call you Grandma Angie?" she inquired, peeking at Nana to make sure she was surviving the birds; she was.

Wendy thought a moment. "Well her stepfather, your grandpa Banning- god rest him- I think he got tired of hearing of the perilous adventures of Peter and Wendy. So he started calling me Angela and Angie. And your mother began doing the same after a while. I think she was tired of hearing the names Peter and Wendy also…" she admitted.

 _Not this again_ , Emma cried to herself. "Yes, well, mother seems to have taken your stories seriously," she sighed.

Wendy cocked her head to the side. "Well, child they _ought_ to be taken seriously. When Peter left, he broke our hearts."

Emma looked at her grandmother incredulously. She shook her head and tried to stifle a laugh. Was she saying that there really was a Peter and that he lived with them? Well, even if they did foster a boy by that name, he surely wasn't the magical creature they fabricated him to be. Maybe it was just such a severe case of broken hearts, and they let their imaginations run away with them. Emma stood, whistling to her pup. Nana III bounded over, her jowls flapping as she ran toward her owner. The young girl swooped her up and placed her on Wendy's lap. "C'mon Gran Ang, let's get back. It's about lunch time."

The trio made their way back to 31 Kensington Park Gardens… in silence.

 _I'm surrounded by children…_ Emma thought as they entered her family home.


	5. Chapter Three: Enter Pan

Tootles and Mr. Johnson spent the day playing cards, though Tootles never did win or fully grasp the art of it. Jane cooked all day, preparing a large feast for her mother and dear family friend. Emma spent a large portion of her afternoon dialing her friends on the rotary and gossiping about the upcoming school year. Many of them had been busy getting ready for this summer's sports or camps, and didn't have much time to spend with Emma. They were all out being kids, while she was home, waiting to be an adult.

She even called Willie, who asked her many times over if she were feeling better from the night before, mentioning that she _did_ look rather green. The poor boy was trying too hard, but Emma did appreciate the effort. She told him she still hadn't found out from her mother about his soccer game on Monday, telling him she had a few more final exams to study for during this last week of school that she had to prioritize.

Emma half heartedly said her goodbyes to Willie and hung up the phone, fanning herself with one of the calling cards. She was sweating under her yellow dress, and could feel her slip sticking to her wet skin beneath it. She headed toward the kitchen, but stopped just outside when she heard her mother ask her grandmother how their morning walk had went. She quietly eavesdropped, hoping to hear some compliments about her being grown and beautiful and sophisticated.

"So mum, what did you and Emma talk about on your walk? Did she tell you about her marks in school?" She asked, kneading dough on the counter.

Wendy put her hand of cards down-she had joined her son in law and Tootles. "Well Jane, she's divine; just as I remember her. A bit taller perhaps. But no, we didn't discuss her marks. She's doing well in school?" She replied coyly.

Sheldon piped up. "Oh Grandma Angie she gets compliments from all of her professors. They think she could skip a year if she truly applied herself," he gloated, putting down a dominant card on the table top and demolishing Tootles in yet another hand.

The old lady regarded this, with only a nod.

"Yes, but mother, what _did_ you two discuss?" Jane pushed, picking up the lump of dough and slapping it down hard. Flour puffed into the air and stuck to her dress.

Wendy sipped her tea. "She told me about the town these days, and I told her about my youth…"

The other three adults in the room turned to look at her. Tootles' lip quivered but he dared not speak. Jane abandoned her dough and came to stand beside her mother. "And?" She inquired, leaning in, along with the two men at the table as well.

Emma pressed her ear to the drywall hard, hearing that it had gone silent. She felt a pang of pain in her toes suddenly and looked down to see Nana III chewing on her bare foot. "Ouch, Nana, stop that!" She whispered in a warning. She dog chipped happily and took another nip at Emma's pinky toe. "Ah! Nana!" She exclaimed, still in a whisper. She bent down to swoop the dog into her arms. She cradled her fluffy body against her chest and put her ear back to the wall.

Wendy slurped her tea. "And I told her to enjoy her youth because it goes so fast," she replied with a shrug.

Jane sighed, but not with relief. She went back to her dough and kneaded it with much more aggression. Tootles slapped down a card that took Sheldon by surprise, and he won the hand, collecting some cards.

Emma peeked around the corner, Nana wriggling in her grip. Nana nipped her ears, her fingers, her collar; _anything_ to get free of Emma's grasp. She tried to keep the pup quiet in case they started up the conversation again. She was disappointed to hear that it was a very negatively charged ending to the conversation, the aura of the kitchen officially changing into a tense one. But as Emma went to go to her room, away from the negative energy, Nana nipped her finger, a little too hard. "Ouch!" She shrieked, no longer quiet. She set Nana on the floor just as Jane got to her on the other side of the wall. Emma held her bleeding fingertip out to show her mother. "Nana bit me!" The dog whimpered by her feet apologetically. Emma brushed her with her toes, accepting her apology. Jane led her daughter into the kitchen, holding her apron over Emma's wound.

Jane turned on the cold water on and stuck Emma's hand under it. The girl winced and held it under there while her mother searched for the first aid kit. Nana III hopped onto Grandma Angie's lap and snuggled, becoming sedated out of guilt. Jane returned and shut off the faucet, and placed the aid kit on the counter. "Here, darling," she said, putting an anti-infection cream on her knick. She bandaged it up and kissed the band aid. "Good to know you're still young enough for me to patch up," Jane commented, her hands securing her daughter's shoulders.

The curly blonde shimmied out from Jane's grasp. "Thank you mother," she replied, examining her finger. What was this obsession with staying young. Her mother must've had some sort of regrets about her life choices, which Emma perfectly intended _not_ to. She knew she would travel the world and discover things. She wouldn't be stuck, they way she thought her mother felt. But her parents made it difficult for her to obtain that goal. They were always trying to keep her little. They really should've had more than one child so they wouldn't helicopter over Emma so much, but she never asked why they chose against it.

Emma turned to leave the room, and almost made it out before her grandmother snagged her arm. "Emma," she started. "We're going to play charades later after dinner if you'd like to join?" she asked, looking up at her.

The young lady thought on it for a moment, but shook her head. "No, Gran Angie I think I'll just go to bed without supper. I haven't been feeling well and there's a book I want to finish before the summer is out. I'll see you all in the morning," she said, waving to the lot behind her and leaning down to kiss her grandmother's cheek.

She trudged the narrow staircase, puppy feet trying to keep up behind her towards her room. Emma stopped at the side of her bed and let her body fall face downward, bouncing on the springs when she hit it. Her arms were outstretched by her sides and her eyes were tired with grief; grief for her life, and her mother's constant nagging, and her grandmother's crypticness, and her father's often absence, and Nana's… well Nana III never really did anything wrong. Even her little nip on Emma's finger could be forgiven. She dragged her tired bones up in bed, shuffling to get under her blanket. She covered herself completely, the map and flashlight hidden there from the night before.

A creek from above the covers startled her, just as she was studying the geography of Japan. She popped her head out from undeath the covers and looked around. Her window was open again. She would really have to tell her father to fix this thing before the summer was out and it began to get cold. Emma hopped from bed and sauntered sleepily over to the window. She peered out, down below, to street lamps beginning to pop on as the sun slowly descended. She pulled it shut tight and latched the door again, jiggling the handle to make sure it was secure.

Before throwing herself back into bed, she unbuttoned her yellow dress and hung it over her bed rail at the foot, along with her racy slip that her mother had scolded her about. It honestly wasn't so bad; it was plain and silk with lace trim on the top lining the breast. Tonight she chose a light blush colored nightgown, the straps about three fingers thick, and the hem just below her knees, quite similar to many of her other nightgowns. Nana III had already been fast asleep in her bed for many minutes now, probably tired from the morning's walk. Emma climbed in beside her, careful not to stir the pup, and covered herself up again.

She 'explored' more of Japan, then Cuba sparked her interest, then Australia… and before she knew it, she had looked over the entire map, _again_. She quietly folded the bit of paper up and stuffed it back behind her headboard with the flashlight. She had _borrowed_ the map from her father's study months ago, and it didn't seem like he missed it, but she was afraid if he saw that she had taken it, he might have a sudden interest in it and take it away. She touched the top of her head, where the red ribbon remained. She pulled it tightly by the ends and secured a bow behind her neck. Then, Emma quietly drifted to the sound of puppy snores, falling deeply into slumber as she usually did.

* * *

Emma's door groaned open. The Johnson's grandfather clock had just struck twelve and everyone was sound asleep in their beds; all but for one. Bare feet creeped slowly into the room, shutting the door behind them. Grandma Angie looked around her old room. It was almost just as she remembered it. The floors and the wallpaper had never been changed; Jane saw to that. It was spacious, and even Emma was sleeping atop her old metal bedframe. She breathed in the scent of the room. It didn't even smell old. It smelled just as it had when she and Michael and John stayed here, obviously much more spacious now that only one person was living in it.

But there were no toy chests, or paper pirate hats, or children's books scattered about the room. No dolls, or doll houses… and even little Michael's teddy was long gone. Grandma Angie gripped at her aching chest at the thought of her brothers. It had been a long time since they'd been gone. John was a doctor but had sadly perished in late 1918 at the age of 38 to the Spanish Flu Pandemic, a dreadful disease that had killed millions worldwide in just about a year's time. It was a terrible day; their family had begged him to stop practicing to keep himself away from the sickness, but he was married to his work, and it finally took him. Michael was 29 when he died, drafted into the first world war. He left a sweetheart behind who was heartbroken, though since then Grandma Angie had heard she grew into a lovely school teacher with five children, and by now, some great grandchildren.

The old lady caught sight of a rocking chair in the corner through the dim light of the moon that shone through the large window, accompanied by a red cushion, somewhat flattened. She ran her fingers over it in the dark to find a few rips in it. Jane really did keep all of the love in this place. She sighed, thoughtfully and then moved her old bones around to sit down. Her hands gripped the arms of the chairs and she slowly rocked back and forth. Her mother's chair was still as comfortable as ever, perhaps because she just missed her mother so much. She closed her eyes and began to rock, picturing all of the times she was in this room, and the adventures she and her brothers would have.

But a shadow crossed the window, momentarily blacking out any light that managed to pool into the room. It alarmed Grandma Angie for a moment and she transfixed her eyes on that old window. When nothing else seemed to happen after a minute or so, she closed her eyes again, mentally berating herself for letting her mind get carried away as if she were young again. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, the chair so silent it was unbelievable how old it was.

But then, she heard a _dink!_ An odd noise that brought her to attention again. She scanned the room, unable to put her finger on the noise or even identify where exactly it came from. She continued to rock, but with her eyes open this time. Emma was hardly moving under her covers; she slept so still and deep, like the dead. Nana III hadn't even woken.

From the corner of Gran's eye, she noticed the handle on the door of the window slowly turning, until it flipped over with another _dink!_ And it became unlocked. The summer breeze pushed the window open slightly almost instantly. Or, was it the small, tinkering yellowish light that bounced in, rolling onto the floor. Sparkling dust trailed behind it, falling onto the window seat.

Grandma Angie quit her rocking, immobilized by shock. Could it _be_ , or was she dreaming? Was she flashing back to her first magical encounter in this room, or was this _really_ happening? The little ball of light staggered where it stood, flickering like a flame about to go out. But then, a tall-ish figure slipped into the room. It was a boy, maybe of 16 or 17, reddish brown hair that stuck up in funny directions, the moonlight only illuminating so much of his face. He was tan, and slightly muscular, but mostly thin, and wore a tunic and trousers, all ripped and stained, from what Gran could see. He slowly lowered himself off of the window seat, holding his finger to his lips-probably signaling the little light. It tinkered in response.

The boy moved slowly toward the bed, step by step, his eyes secured on the loaf covered in blankets on the bed. _It was him_ , Gran thought. She was almost paralyzed with fear and joy at the same time, and tears pricked at her eyes. After all these years, after his departure long ago, he was back, just as Jane believed he would be. It took her a few moments to gather her thoughts and wits, and she may have stopped breathing, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. She let him continue, curious to see what he was looking for.

The boy gently reached over, pausing when he saw a curl escaping the blanket that didn't look familiar. He peeled the blanket off slowly, the little light squirming behind his head, now in flight. The light made funny little noises and attached herself to him, sitting on top of his head, grasping his hair like a shield. The boy continued peeling, slowly, careful not to wake the beast that lay on the bed beside the body, until he revealed a girl. Her hair was long and curly and strawberry blonde, secured with a red ribbon. The light gasped, and so did the boy. He shook his head, in denial of who this was. He reached forward and gently moved the hair out of the girl's face.

His light panicked, pulling against his hair, trying to bid him to leave. But he didn't; he just stared at the sleeping beauty. When he couldn't take much more of the hair pulling, he swatted the light away and jumped gracefully toward the other side of the bed, his body looking like he'd just took a step on the moon. The jump was so light and his landing even lighter, barely making a noise. He leaned down to sit on his knees, and rested his chin on his arms, examining the girl's face. She was pale, but her cheeks rosy from the hot summer air.

Grandma Angie watched the whole ordeal in wonder. He was looking for her but found her granddaughter instead. It warmed her heart that after so much time, he still remembered her. She decided it best to let him know her presence, not to be intrusive any longer. She took a deep, steadying breath and wiped the tears from her wrinkled cheeks.


	6. Chapter Four: Taken

"Peter," the old voice croaked, old and delicate hands grabbing her throat as a lump formed.

The boy, alarmed, along with his little light, jumped backward, away from the bed. His fists were balled and he looked as if he were ready to hurdle over the bed and run out of the window and take flight. The small tinkering light flickered almost frantically, and flew in circles around his head.

Just as he was about to start his anxious departure, Grandma Angie held her wrinkled hand out. "Wait, boy, don't fly away!" She exclaimed in a hushed tone. He faltered, but ignored her anyway and gracefully hopped, and flew over the bed, landing on the window seat.

"Peter," she coaxed. "Were you looking for Wendy?" She asked, knowing it would get his attention. The boy stopped, bathed in the moonlight of the open window. He squinted, trying to see the dark figure that spoke to him from across the room in the shadows. The little light pulled on his hair, trying to get the boy to leave. He swatted her away.

"You know Wendy lady?" He asked innocently but skeptically.

"And I know _you._ And I know Tinkerbell," she croaked, clearing her throat now. Tink stopped her tirade on Peter, her little glow turning a purple color- embarrassment obviously taking her over. Grandma Angie shakily stood from her rocking chair, careful not to illuminate herself just yet. She didn't want to shock the poor boy right away.

"You know Wendy lady?" He repeated quietly, stealing nervous glances at Emma in bed. "Where is she? Is this her daughter? Is this Jane? She looks different…" he said sadly. He looked back to Emma again, creeping toward her on his toes. He stole another look at her, examining her curls and her cheeks and eyelashes.

"That's her granddaughter, Emma," she explained. "She's Jane's daughter. And Danny is grown up as well with children of his own in Ireland…" she continued.

The deafening silence grew in the room, and Grandma Angie was surprised that neither Emma nor Nana III had woken. Though, she _did_ remember this from many years ago, when Emma fell asleep in the middle of a carnival at 5 years of age, despite the festival music and screaming kids around her. Sheldon had carried her limp body over his shoulder for hours after that. Once the girl was tuckered out, it was hard to wake her. And Nana III, certainly not taking after her predecessors and being a worry wart, decided to adopt Emma's sleeping patterns. The two were much like mother and daughter themselves; Emma was very responsible and took care of Nana exclusively.

Peter took a step toward the shadow in the corner. "Wendy has… a granddaughter?" He asked solemnly, hanging his head. He was almost ashamed to look at the sleeping girl now. Tink flew close to the old, shadowy figure but immediately retreated, noticing the aging on the shadow's face.

Grandma Angie sighed and hobbled forward, partially exposed in the light. "Yes, Peter, I do," she admitted. He shied away in horror. The boy's knees began to shake and Tink deflated onto his shoulder, her light now a deep blue.

The boy shook his auburn head and choked back tears. He had cried before- because he was not yet a man and boys were certainly allowed to cry- but he did not like it. He liked being strong and more overpowering and braver than a man would be, but in a much younger body. "But Wendy lady… you're… you're so old…" he forced out, barely able to speak. A tear rolled down his cheek but he wiped it away aggressively.

Wendy's heart ached. She _knew_ she was old, and it sometimes hurt her as well. Were she not to have had such an amazing family, she may have stayed with him in the past. But she didn't like to think of that, because of the amazing family she had now. She hobbled forward, though he just braced himself even further for flight. If she got too close he may just fly away and never return. She held her hands out, flipping them upwards then downwards in the light.

"Yes, boy, it's been a long, long time," she admitted. "You left us so many years ago."

He stepped down from the window seat, staring at her hands that were forlorn with liver spots and scars from her youth. "I… I didn't think I had been gone for so many years…" he said, ashamed now. "I've been here many nights Wendy lady, looking to visit you and Jane and Tootles...but the window was locked."

Wendy outstretched her hand toward him comfortingly but he did not take it. With a sigh, she brought it back to rest on her breaking heart. She knew he must've thought that she locked him out, which she would never _ever_ do. They had agreed many years ago, when she returned from Neverland the first time, that she would keep the window open and unlocked for him always. But he had never expected to come back and see her like this.

Peter's gaze sauntered over to Emma, and he found himself mindlessly quickening to her side as she lamented in her sleep. He crouched beside her again, laying his soft boyish cheek on his arm and resting on her bed. He liked to look at her. She looked like Wendy, but different somehow; that was the magic of heredity that he would never understand or come to know. He was mesmerized. Jane never looked this similar, this _familiar._ Young Danny did, but he was also too young to take on adventures and apparently now too old.

Wendy watched as Tinkerbell sat uninterested-and jealous of the lack of attention she was receiving- on the window seat, clicking her little heels. "Peter, I haven't lived here for many years. Emma keeps the window locked. I suspect she's afraid of something coming to get her in the night…" Wendy explained, hoping he'd understand the shutout was unintentional.

He gazed at the sleeping girl, her curls now having fell across her face yet again. He reached out to move them so he could continue to observe her, fascinated by her deep sleep as a child. "I could come for her in the night…" he said, offering the girl to himself, unrealizing of his external expression.

Wendy moved around the bed by him and touched his shoulder. "No, boy," she objected protectively. "You cannot take Emma away to Neverland…" she scolded quietly, yet warmly.

Peter jumped at her touch, and looked up at her, again mortified by her appearance. He stood and quickly made his way to the other side of the bed. He leaned down to the height of the mattress again and spread his hands out beside her defensively. "Wendy lady," he pleaded. "Can I keep her?" He asked, ignoring her previous denial.

Wendy leaned over her granddaughter and adjusted the blanket, tucking her in, but keeping her eyes on Peter all the while. "No," she said harshly. "You cannot break our hearts, again, boy," she reprimanded. Wendy would _always_ have a special place in her heart for him, but she could not have him taking away her only granddaughter-Danny had three boys- and breaking her heart _and_ Jane's for a second time in their life.

The boy stood, tall and angry. He set his fists on his hips and puffed out his chest. "The Great Pan doesn't listen to grown ups!" He challenged, a little loud. Nana III stirred slightly, while Emma remained unbothered by the volume. "Kids don't need adults! Kids need fun and adventure and never to grow up!" He declared. Tinkerbell, excited by any type of reverence from Peter leapt into the air and put on her fighting face by his side.

Wendy's brittle bones stood straight, and she set her mouth into a grim line and stuck her pointer finger out at him; something she had mastered while raising her children, and was even good at when she bossed John and Michael around. The two stood opposing each other, a bit angered but more resentful of one another now. Peter was angry that Wendy had grown so old and would not let him take Emma. And Wendy was angry that Peter was still a naive boy who thought he could do whatever he pleased.

"You _will not_ take her, boy. And that's final…" she warned. Peter and Tink exchanged looks, though each of their expressions said something different. Tink was smart enough not to feud with Peter about these things though; she had learned her lesson time and time again.

A few awkward moments passed, but just as Wendy went to sympathize with the boy, feeling awfully terrible that _this_ had to be their reunion, he leaned down and scooped the sleeping girl up, blanket enveloping her and all. Emma, still, did not stir. But now Nana had woken, and the small pup sensed the immediate danger. She rapped as loudly as her puppy lungs could manage. Wendy, in shock, faltered. But, she regained her consciousness quick, and grabbed for the blanket wrapping her granddaughter as tightly as she could.

But Peter was a strong boy, much stronger than others. And as he pulled the lump of Emma away, Wendy toppled onto the mattress, losing grip. "Peter, don't! This is not some funny game!" She cried, not worrying about her volume now. She should've tried to wake Emma when she had the chance. Footsteps clambered down the hallway. They had probably woken Jane and Sheldon with the commotion.

Peter cradled the girl in his arms and hopped gracefully to the window. The bedroom door handle shimmied a moment before Mr. and Mrs. Johnson came falling in, tripping frantically over one another. He saw Jane, who had also grown old and tired looking, though not as horribly as Wendy. Sheldon ran to Wendy's aid, helping her stand. But Jane stood, transfixed. He was really _here_ , back in Kensington Park Gardens. And now he held something, or rather _someone._

"Boy, don't you take our Emma!" Wendy shouted. Nana leapt from the mattress but her puppy legs were too small to reach him on the window's balcony.

"Second star to the right, and straight on til morning!" He called, throwing himself from the window, the sleeping girl still cradled against his chest. Wendy cried out in horror but Jane could not move. She was paralyzed.

Wendy tripped and tumbled to the window, pushing past her daughter. Her cheeks were salty and wet, and Sheldon went zooming across the room to catch his mother in law before, she too, threw herself from the window. They both looked over the balcony, Sheldon looking down at the ground, expecting to see his daughter flat against the pavement, and Wendy looking up to the sky, the pair and the fairy already gone from sight.

Sheldon panicked, looking back over his shoulder at his wife. "What's wrong with you, Jane? You could've stopped that maniac. Quick! Call the bobbies! The constable! Do _something_ you damned woman!" He yelled in a flurry of emotion. He tried to support a collapsing Grandma Angie. "Jane how could you have just let him take our girl?! We'll never see her again!" He cried, Nana's howling almost overpowering him.

Jane said nothing but hurried from the room, off to dial the police. Wendy became Grandma Angie once more, unable to identify with her younger self. She leaned helplessly against Sheldon and stared at the stars.

" _Never_ ," she whispered. "...is an awfully long time."

* * *

Warmth sank deep into the blanket that covered Emma. She was rocking back and forth on something. It was morning, and she was fully rested, about the only thing that could make this girl wake. Her eyes fluttered open, and the sunlight began shining through the thin cloth. Her eyelashes stuck to the blanket, causing her to push it away from her face to lighten the feeling of claustrophobia. But when she pushed the blanket upwards with her hands, she saw that they were bound together with… vines?

She didn't panic, for she thought it a dream. She wriggles out from under her cloth trap and when she emerged, she was lying face up, staring at a brush of tree tops. Confused, she sat up, and looked around. She was swinging awkwardly on a hammock made from leaves and-of course- more vines. She unstably tried to swing her legs over the side and stand, but wobbled a bit and fell backwards, landing on her spine and knocking the air straight out of her. Her legs dangled above her still entwined in the hammock.

The pain was too much to be a dream, as she laid on the grassy knoll, and her nerves began to set in. Ripping her legs free from the forestry, Emma rolled onto her stomach and managed to get to her knees. She sleepily looked down at her bound wrists again. Her head hurt vaguely, and she couldn't remember sleepwalking. But around her, the shrubbery and the sound of birds chirping was not the same as it was in Kensington.

She struggled to her feet, all the while pulling her wrists in different directions. The vines were tied tightly and dug into her frail wrists, indenting them with red marks.

"Hello!" She called out, beginning to sweat profusely. "Hello, someone! Mother!" She hollered, staring at the tree tops. "Grandma Angie! Are you there? Father?!" She continued to yell. She walked in circles around the knoll, trying to decide in which direction she should start moving. But she couldn't decide, because she was terrified of getting lost in the brush.

Trees and bushes rustled behind her. Emma jumped anxiously back toward the hammock. She inched behind it and crouched down, trying to hide behind it as best as possible. She eyed her surroundings and abandoned her post to scurry to a small branch lying among other kindle, and then ran back and held it in her hands in front of her in defense. The rustling continued and she heard whispers commence. She could almost see pairs of eyes staring back at her through the shadows.

"Oy!" She yelled. "Out with you now! Show yourself!" She demanded. When no one replied or stepped forward, she stood from her crouch and waved the branch around. "I said _out_ with you monsters! Where am I!?"

A tiny face poked out from behind a tree. The hair on top of his head was blonde and curly and _dirty_. His bright green eyes shone in the sunlight but were masked by some terrible brown and red war paint splattered around his eyelids and brows and on the swolls of his cheeks. The two made immediate eye contact, but said nothing for several seconds.

He emerged from his hiding spot, now extended an arrow at the ready. He couldn't have been more than 8 years old. But he looked like a professional handling the bow and arrow. He aimed it at Emma, their breaths matching and accelerating. One by one, heads popped from the line of the forest, and little boys in furs and hides and leaves and twigs, all dirty and barbaric, with swords and bows and staffs clambered to a halt before Emma. They threatened her with the points of their weapons. And she remained, with only a broken branch to protect herself.

The last to emerge was a tall boy, maybe the same age as her. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and tan skin. He too, was donned in war paint and animal furs. A pair of long daggers sat in holsters on each side of his hip. His black-ish hair was pulled back into a short and bluntly cut ponytail. He rested his thumbs on the inside of his pants, casually standing in front of all of the wild children.

"Halt, lady!" He called to her, seemingly unbothered by her defense. Emma eyed him curiously and took a few steps back, about to break for a run. The boy held his hand up. "I wouldn't do that if I were you…" he warned. "Boys are quicker. And stronger. And Crawley has the best aim in the pack," he said, gesturing to the first little blonde boy Emma had seen. He looked so innocent, but was tainted by the weapon he held.

Emma threw down the branch, frustrated. "Tell me where I am! And tell me how to get back to London," she demanded. The whole row of boys roared and laughed, but the older one shot them a wicked glare and they stopped.

"Pan said to watch you while he was gone. You're not going back to London," he told her seriously.

 _Pan?_ She thought. This _had_ to have been a joke or a dream from her subconscious. Her mother had really done it this time; filling her head with so much nonsense about Peter Pan that she began to dream about Neverland. Emma erupted into a small giggle, and then a hearty laugh. She dropped to her back and held her stomach, rolling around on the floor. And to think! She thought she was about to be filleted by children. She rolled onto her stomach and then onto her back again, unable to cease her laughter. The boys looked back and forth to each other in confusion.

"Stop that!" The tall boy commanded. But she didn't. She continued to laugh until her cheeks hurt and tears streamed. She laid flat on her back and outstretched her hands, feeling the warmth of the hot grass. This was the most vivid dream she'd had in awhile. Emma sat up and eyed the group of boys again. These _children_ could do her no harm.

She bounded over to them, making them tense and wield their weapons tightly. She went over to the blonde boy, and patted him on the head. "You're adorable, little one. If I had a brother, he may have looked like you," she complimented with a kiss in his curls. "You're all very silly," she said, addressing all of the boys. "These couldn't hurt a fly!" She mocked, pinching the tip of the arrowhead that pointed at her chest.

The tall boy was nudged by the one he called Crawley. Begrudgingly, he removed a dagger from his right holster and seized the girl's arm, yanking it toward him. She laughed along, knowing full well that she couldn't be hurt by a dream. But the boy took the palm of her hand and faced it upward. He placed the point of his dagger at the base of her pointer finger, then quickly sliced to the edge of her palm, just above her wrist.

Emma pulled back in horror, blood gushing from the gash. She winced in pain and gripped her hand tightly to her chest, staining her nightgown with blood. "Ow," she crooned, beginning to cry. She backed away from the group and sank to her knees, almost unable to stand the piercing feeling in her hand.

The boy cleaned her blood off of his dagger on his pant leg and slipped it back into his holster. "This is not a dream," he told her. "And if you try to escape or laugh at us again, I'll let the lost boys do more to you than that." The boy walked over to her and pulled her up gently by the arm. But as he did so, a little tinkering light came furiously from the tree line. She stopped in front of the leader of the group and whispered into his ear anxiously.

Tinkerbell took notice of the girl's tears and wound and giggled to herself. How many times did she have to go through this with Peter. She loved that boy and wanted all of his attention. But she was too tiny to pay mind to _all_ of the time. So she enjoyed being a part of doing bad things that got his attention.

Emma was feeling faint, seeing what looked like a little winged creature fraternizing with the dirty boys in front of her. They all cooed and laughed ferociously. But a loud _drop_ behind her startled her, and she stood straight, accidentally falling into the crook of the leader's arm, causing them both to stumble backward. An even taller boy with reddish hair and a much more muscular frame stepped forward. Where had he come from? The sky? Emma's color drained from her face. Would these boys eat her? Was she on some kind of cannibalistic, unevolved island?

Her knees quivered and she began to drop, but the leader hoisted her up, a hand under her arms and locked around her waist. The red headed boy looked her over, and saw the blood spewed across her chest.

"Dimitri, what happened to her?" He demanded to the 'assumed leader'.

Dimitri hoisted her weak body up again. "She was gonna run away Peter. And _then_ she laughed at us. She challenged us," he explained, shooting her disgusted glances.

Emma's hands were clasped tightly to her chest, attempting to stop the bleeding. She was scared for her life and wasn't sure what was going to happen to her. This was real, as much as she didn't want to believe it. But she was sure of one thing: this boy before her was Peter Pan.

Peter looked to the crowd beyond Dimitri and he waltzed over to them, his hands behind his back like a drill sergeant. "LOST BOYS!" He bellowed with power. "Your mission was to _watch_ the lady. _Not_ to harm her. She is a lost girl now… and NO ONE is to hurt her." He walked forward and took Dimitri's arm from around the girl and threw it off angrily. Emma, shock invigorating her, collapsed, but not before Peter reached out to catch her. He lifted her effortlessly in his arms, cradling her against his chest. Her curls hung from her limp neck and tickled his arms. He stared at her red ribbon for a lingering moment before sneering at the boys. "This is Wendy lady's granddaughter. It's Jane's daughter, lost boys," he explained. They all gasped and gazed at the passed out girl in wonder. You could tell they all wanted to hug her. They had a new mother, now. They sheathed their weapons, ashamed to have almost used them against her. Dimitri swallowed hard and locked his eyes on the girl.

"Go to the tree house and clean up! We need to have a feast for Emma when she wakes up! Kill some wild hogs! Find some good carrots for a stew!" Peter ordered. The lost boys scrambled. Some went left, the others went right. Tinkerbell flew beside Peter, then ahead of him, knowing exactly where he'd take Emma.

Dimitri sauntered up to Peter. He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "Pan, I'm sorry I didn't know…" he started.

Peter jerked the girl away from Dimitri in his arms protectively. "If my hands were empty I might slit your throat," he threatened. Dimitri hung his head in shame while Peter took flight.

Dimitri had been Peter's right hand for a long time now. They fought pirates together, chased woodland nymphs, and managed the lost boys. When Peter wasn't there, Dimitri _was_ to fill his place. Dimitri was 15, limber, cold, and adventurous; everything Pan wanted in a right hand. They rarely butt heads, except for when they fought over their most recent kill during hunts. But now they fought, over a _girl_ nonetheless. Dimitri couldn't even remember the last time he had seen a girl. He was not around for Wendy's reign as mother, or for Jane's brief adventure with the lost boys. He knew he probably didn't like girls very much, but now that Peter staked his claim, he gained a sudden interest in this certain girl.

And like they always had, the two boys would share everything, right?

* * *

 **AN; This is a bit lengthier than other chapters. Many of the chapters will probably be either this long or longer in the future. Please enjoy and leave Reviews or suggestions!**


	7. Chapter 5: Mermaids and Pirates

Tinkerbell zoomed above the trees, Peter following anxiously behind her, looking down every minute or so to see if Emma had come to. She must've been foreign to injury, he might've guessed. Around here, Peter and the lost boys came home with fresh wounds and terrible gnashes every night to compare with each other. Amazingly, Dimitri was the least scarred. He was very swift in combat and only once had been nicked by the tip of a sword; _Peter's_ sword. They sparred often and both were two of the best swordsmen you could find in Neverland and beyond.

Trees and ponds and clearings all blurred together below the three of them as they accelerated in flight. Flying really was the best, and the fastest, way to travel. Peter could remember the first time he flew. It was without the help of any pixie dust whatsoever, which he was very proud of.

They flew almost to the opposite end of the island before Tink took a dip, and plummeted downward, Peter close behind. They landed on a pair of rocks, erect from the water. Waves splashed against them from the open sea. Peter lowered Emma's body down, her arms trembling when hey touched the cold, wet rock. Peter sprawled beside her, leaning over her body with curiosity. Tinkerbell rolled her beady eyes and angrily hopped off to another nearby rock. She plopped herself down with her arms crossed and her face twisted.

Peter relaxed, turning on his side and propping his head up on his hand, his arm supported by his elbow. She was pretty. _Much_ prettier than Jane, and possibly even prettier than Wendy. But did Emma have the spunk that she once had? This was what was so alluring to Peter about Wendy Darling. But _Emma_ ; boy was she a sight. Even if she didn't have the spunk, it was hard to take your eyes off of her. Peter immediately got angry at the thought of other boys enjoying her beauty as much as him. He remembered back to when he had briefly stayed with Wendy and Jane, when they had forced him to attend school. It didn't last very long and all of those boys were ready to grow up. They were terrible creatures and talked about girls in a way he'd never heard before. He remembered slightly a boy named Charlie, who said some awful things about Jane. Peter was sent home from the academy that day with a note saying he'd been in a fight.

He shook the memories from his head and gazed at Emma. He reached up to touch her ribbon, but she stirred. He retracted and jumped to his feet. He stood above her, feet on either side of her body so she could not run away when she woke. He stuck his two pointer fingers in the corners of his mouth and blew hard, whistling magically. It was so high pitched and strong that pirates would hear it for miles on the seas.

Emma's eyes fluttered open, and the sunlight made her shut them again immediately. Her hand was stinging, and she knew that she hadn't been dreaming. Where she was now, she had no clue. Probably on the dinner table of those terrible children. Then again… _Peter Pan_ was there. He was real, like her mother and Grandma Angie had said. And he was rescuing her when she saw him, at least that's what she thought. She moved to roll over, but was halted by Peter's leg. When she opened her eyes again, she peered up at him. His hands were balled on his hips and he was smiling down at her with bright eyes. His disheveled auburn locks blew lightly with the breeze. She _wanted_ to scream, but her throat and mouth were dry and she didn't know what screaming would do for her now. She was here, in Neverland, and he was probably the only person who could get her home.

She weakly sat up as he stepped back from above her. He bent down, arms across his thighs, so he was eye level with her. Emma brought her injured hand to her chest again, squeezing it. The gash was bloody and dirty and felt prickly. She went to speak, but had to cough out the phlegm from her dry throat before words could escape her. "You're…" she began, eyes locked with his.

He nodded before she could finish. "Pan…" he said confidently, shoving his open hand in her face for a handshake. She regrettably took it and he shook hard, wriggling her entire arm wildly. "And you're Emma…" he replied, steadying the shake and then letting it go just as regrettably. The girl nodded. "I'm sorry if he lost boys scared you. Hey haven't had a mother in a long time. And half of them have never seen a girl since Jane."

Emma brightened at the mention of her mother's name. She wobbled to her feet, Peter standing as well and hoisting her up by the arm in assistance. "My mother _was_ here, then?" She asked in reassurance.

Peter nodded again, shrugging at her shocked expression. He wasn't the biggest fan of Jane, to be honest. He really only liked her because of her relation to Wendy. He looked at her as one of the boys. And that would be all she'd ever be to him: another lost boy.

A splash behind Emma startled her, soaking her back completely. She jumped forward and maneuvered herself around to stand behind Peter. At the base of the rock now peeked a woman. She had silver hair and piercing yellow eyes. She rested her arms on the rock and smiled coyly at Peter. His charm never ceased to amaze Wendy. He was such a young boy with so much suaveness that could surpass a gentleman's. And now it amazed Emma. He leaned down and came inches from the mystical face. A large fishtail broke the surface of the seawater and threw another splash across at Emma. But it crashed on the rock by her feet. A _mermaid_. Emma was more impressed than offended by the pure strength of the tail.

"Vita," Peter greeted. He held the mermaid's chin in his palm. "Can you help my friend, Emma? Dimitri sliced her… by accident," he lied. The mermaid's yellow eyes glared at Emma for a moment before softening. She held out her hand in the direction of the girl. Peter released Vita's chin and used the same hand to outstretch to Emma as well. She regarded them both suspiciously, unable to move. The pain in her hand did subside a little but she was afraid of infection. It had grown grungier by the minute. Peter stood to make her feel more comfortable. He gently grabbed her wounded hand and pulled her forward. Emma resisted a bit, scared of what the mermaid might do to her.

Peter twirled around so he was behind her, so that Emma was now in between him and Vita. He rested his hands on her hips securely. Vita's silver hair sparkled against the glare of the water. She sunk until she was no longer visible. Emma stood on her toes a bit to try and see where she disappeared to. Peter began to push her forward, and she backed up against him. "Peter, no," she pleaded.

"She'll help, believe me," he told her, nudging her closer to the edge. Emma turned around in his grasp and gripped his forearms, fingernails digging deeply into his skin. She shook her head frantically in response.

Peter rolled his eyes at her and bunched the fabric of her nightgown between his fingers, then ran, pushing her backward. He lifted her by the hips and into the air. And before she could yell or object, they were in the air above the water. "Hold your breath!" He shouted with a hearty laugh. And then he dropped her.

Emma's breath lost her as she fell straight down into the crystal clear blue water below. When she collided with it, it was cold, then very warm. Her eyes slowly fluttered open under the water and she looked upward at the sunlight on the other side of the world above. As she began to ascend, though, a hand caught her ankle and yanked her downward. It was the silver haired mermaid from before. Their eyes met and Emma panicked. She'd heard stories about how mermaids tried to drown men and women. And while this one didn't try to harm Peter, Emma couldn't be sure she'd have the same disposition towards _her._ Vita pulled Emma down through the water until they were eye-level. Emma's chest felt tight with little air left in her lungs. But with strong hands, speckled with diamond-like frecks, Vita gripped the bony shoulders of the human girl and pulled her close. She leaned in and kissed Emma, Vita's lips very warm against Emma's cool ones.

When she pulled away, Emma gasped, unable to hold her breath any longer. But it was okay; she could breathe. Emma took steady, small breaths to make sure this was really happening, and then deeper ones, feeling the cool water fill her lungs and then exit them once more. Vita swam away from the human, but gestured for her to follow.

The pair swam downward, toward a black mass which proved to be a cave. All around them coral and colorful fish twirled in circles. The only light to be seen were from glowing fish that swam through the cave endlessly, back and forth. They were not like the fish she had ever seen before. They were quite magical. Then again, this all was. Vita was clearly annoyed with the lack of speed Emma possessed. Not only were mermaids naturally faster swimmers, but Emma seemed to dally in all of the wonders of the cave. A few times she had to drag Emma along by the wrist a few yards until she regained consciousness and carried on behind Vita on her own.

They finally neared light at the end of the dark cavern. And Emma could see many mermaids, flitting their tails about. Some were burying things- treasures perhaps-deep in the sand, others were plucking on strings of sunken or stolen human instruments, and _most_ were eyeing Vita and Emma suspiciously. They swam to a brush of coral and seaweed, though it was glowing like the fish from the cave. Vita turned, seizing Emma's wounded hand and pulling it close to her face.

"What are you going to do?" Emma asked, almost surprised she could speak underwater. Vita glared and released Emma's hand. Strapped to the mermaids arm was a band, encrusted in gold and with small spiky accents. Vita pinched the top of one accents and unsheathed it, revealing a needle-like tool. She held her hand up and pricked her finger with it. Out poured a shimmering substance, green and sparkly. Vita tossed the tool back into her armlet and ripped off some of the glowing seaweed. She rubbed it viciously against her pricked finger and the blood stopped. Emma nodded, her mouth forming an 'O' shape.

She unquestioningly held out her hand as Vita tore more of the glowing seaweed from the brush. "Neverweed," she said, her voice ringing like a bell but sounding a bit gurgled like she was drowning. Vita wrapped the seaweed around Emma's wound and pressed tightly. Emma winced and hissed. It burnt, like fire, which was ironic. Vita ripped the slimy tissue away and Emma was surprised to see her wound healed, although there was a nasty scar to commemorate it. She stared at it in wonder. And she was about to thank the mermaid, and had to remember to thank Peter as well, but Vita viciously grabbed her wrist again and drug her through the cove until they were out in the open again. Mermaids gathered around, whispering to each other and giggling.

Vita took Emma by the shoulders again and looked upward, causing the human to follow her gaze. She could see the surface again, though it was some ways away, maybe a good 10 yards. Vita grabbed Emma's face on either side and kissed her hard once more, but then shoved her face away with a giggle. The water drained from Emma's lungs and were refilled with, well more water, but her lungs were no longer compatible with that. She waved her arms and legs about in a frenzy and flapped them to try and make her way to the surface. She could hear the muffled and gurgled laughter below. They may not have tried to drown her _this_ time-though it sure seemed like it- but she knew if she crossed them again, and without Peter, that she may not find herself so lucky.

When the human did reach the surface, she was disappointed to find nothing but the open sea around her. She did not think they traveled _that_ far, but underwater travel seemed to prove deceiving. Her arms and legs grew weary and paranoia began to settle in. Perhaps the mermaids _would_ be successful in her drowning. Emma tried to catch her breath, floating on her back to ease the muscle soreness she now had all over her body.

She drifted for many minutes before deciding she'd try to swim around and get to land. A massive silhouette of what could've been a mountain was seen in the distance, but surely she wouldn't have to swim those many miles to get to land. _Surely_ there was a closer grove or beach she could climb ashore. Emma outstretched her arms and began paddling herself across the water, each stroke causing her to get a bit more tired by the second. She swam, and swam, and panicked when something touched her foot, then swam and swam, and cried aloud when her shoulders ached, then swam and swam again until she wanted to die.

Emma lyed on her back, floating out to sea. She had swam maybe two miles, and didn't think she could manage any more. This _had_ to all be a very vivid dream. She couldn't die this way, there's no way. There's _no_ way. She let herself bake in the sun, unable to move and unable to cry because she was so exhausted already. She closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again she'd be in her room back in Kensington Park Gardens.

But as she was about to let herself sink into the depths of the Neversea, prepared to wake up to her mother's cooking and nagging about growing up, something heavy landed next to her, splashing her warm face. She opened one eye weakly and saw a rope, slowly sinking and drifting away from her. It's other end was connected to a large wooden ship with tattered black sails. She hadn't even noticed or heard it come so near. Emma floated upright now, treading water. She squinted to get a better view of the few bodies that stood on board. A chubby man waved at her. His belly poked out bright and white from under his dark blue shirt. "Grab on ta the rope lass!" He yelled out to her.

Emma clumsily paddled over to the rope, pulling it roughly toward her chest and thanking the heavens that she wasn't about to die. The rope snapped tightly and she was yanked upward. It was hard to hold up her weight from her weak and trembling arms. Thankfully, the trip was short and she landed aboard the ship with a clunk, her knees banging on the wooden floors. She looked up, her ribbon hanging flat against her forehead, dripping with seawater. Emma pushed it off of her face and secured it back in her hair. Dirty and scary looking men crowded her, in a circle. They were all quite old, with missing teeth and eye patches and long beards. These must've been the pirates her mother told her about. She recognized the pudgy one, who had waved to her from before- and immediately related his name back to the stories she knew as a child. He held out a hand for her, and when she took it, he pulled her to her feet roughly and threw a burlap sack over her shoulders to dry off with.

"You're…" she began, coughing up some water. "You're Mr. Smee," she said to him before he could speak.

Surprised, he pushed his glasses up on his nose with his pointer finger and blinked many times. "Well, yes lass, I am. But you can call me Smee," he explained, shaking her hand roughly, dropping the formality immediately.

Emma started a coughing fit, all of which was subsided by the multiple hands that came smacking down on her back by the crew. She spit up some water and pulled the burlap sack securely around her, beginning to shake from the temperature change. Smee wrapped his arm around her shoulder and began leading her toward the center of the ship, swatting away pirates and ordering them to make way.

"Mr… ehem, I mean, Smee," she began. He looked back at her with a twinkle in his eye. He smelled awful. Like of brandy or gin or something she might find her father drinking after a long day at the bank. "Is there any way you could get me back to my home, in London?" She asked, hopeful.

He furrowed his brow. " _Back home_ , ye say?" He glanced around at the crew who were all dumbfounded. "Why, you're the first kid around here wanting to go home in quite a long time," he commented, looking her up and down.

Emma's toes curled uncomfortably. "I'm not a 'kid'. I'm almost 16 and I want to go home, back to my family," she said, almost an order.

Smee stood straight and pressed his lips into a thin line underneath his white beard. "Well you'll have ta take it up with the captain, miss," he said with passive authority. He crossed his arms stubbornly and turned his nose away from her.

She scoffed. Ripping the sack from around her, she pushed it hard into the pirate's chest, knocking the breath from him. "Then bring the captain here, _now_." She threatened. "If you won't listen and bring me home, he will have to!"

The crew began a slow chuckle, unbelieving of the girl's stupidity. Loud stomps came from behind the cabin doors to the left of them, and they all hushed. The door swung open, two mean and nasty eyes peered out to the group from under a large tri-corn hat. It was dark blue with gold trim, almost royal looking. Underneath was a man, with green eyes and dark black hair, long and curly. He looked about the same age as Emma's father, if not only a year or so younger. He may have been the youngest man on board. And he was attractive. He had a sharp goatee and a nicely fitted trench with the same color and trim as the hat. His right hand was filled with shiny rings accented with sapphires and rubies. But his left: his left hand was no hand at all. It was a long, slender and curvy hook, with a very sharp point at the end.

He cleared his throat and searched the crowd for the challenger, finally resting his eyes on… _Wendy_?! No it can't be. Wendy grew up, he was sure of it. He tormented Peter about it every time he saw him; how she left him and grew up and didn't want anything to do with him anymore. Peter put up a tough act, but he knew it got to the boy. Besides, he was just that; _a boy._ Emma stood in place, unmoving. She may have been afraid, but she was more determined than anything. This was a better place to be than stranded, dying in the ocean.

The captain sauntered toward her, a devilish grin plastered on his face. "Boys, what _have_ you caught now…" he asked rhetorically. They began their slow chuckle again, testing the waters of his patience. "Such a pretty thing. And oh so grown up. Certainly Peter Pan could not have brought this mature and flowering lady to us?" He held out his hook to her, and she took it. They gently shook it back and forth, an awkward hand-shake.

"My dear, what should we call such a pretty little lady like yourself?" He asked, almost sweetly, and kissed the top of her hand before 'releasing'.

"I'm Emma," she introduced, fear only allowing her to say so much. The captain's brow raised and he nodded.

"Emma," he introduced. "I'm the infamous Captain James Hook," he said waving his hook in the air. "And these are my jolly men of the Jolly Roger; the most fearsome crew and ship in all of the world!" He yelled, and the crew roared in appreciation. The girl cracked a smile at their brief celebration. But the captain pointed his hook at the base of the girl's neck. He leaned in and peered deep into her eyes. Her smile vanished. "But you already knew that you slimy child…" he said suspiciously. She went to object but he seized her shoulder and swung her around face the crew. "What do ya think, boys?!" Hook shouted. "Should we send Pan's spy girl plunging into the depths or to rot with the rats below deck!" He asked rhetorically, knowing full well their opinions mattered nothing to his decision making.

The crew shouted many different things, shouting tortuous advice about what to do with the girl. One man with no teeth offered to make her their scullery maid. Another with one arm offered her up as a concubine, which horrified Emma. She was disgusted with their shouts and fiendish looks. But she would not go lightly. The great Christopher Columbus would never let something so terrible happen to him. Well, he wouldn't die without a fight at least. Emma eyed her surroundings. There was little to work with, honestly. He best bet would be to throw herself over the side of the ship, though she wasn't sure her tired body would be able to swim any further. The captain's hook tangled in her hair and yanked on it, bringing her out of her trance. Her escape route was clear: there was none.

Hook cleared his throat. "Silence, scallywags!" He ordered. Smee echoed the order immediately after him, causing the rowdy crowd to quiet down. "I say we take her into the jungle and let the mountain lions feed on her! Aye?!"

"AYE!" The band of dirty men screamed. Emma went to open her mouth to holler and try to explain that she had barely known Peter Pan for five minutes, but a grimy cloth was stuffed right into her mouth. It tasted of dirt and copper. Hook pushed her forward, where she was secured around the head with a blindfold by Smee and her hands were bound behind her back by others she now could not see. She was pushed left and right and all around until she became queasy from motion and lack of direction. She was secured by rope around- the mast perhaps?

She fumbled with the splitting twine around her wrists, and could not pull free. _Geez, is everyone a knot tying expert in Neverland,_ she thought morbidly. Emma spluttered the dirty cloth from her mouth and spit it onto her lap. Her mouth was dry now and tasted god awful. She had never wanted to be home more than in this minute, but that thought quickly abandoned her when she realized she hadn't been able to travel and explore the places she dreamed about. All she had explored in her lifetime was Kensington Park Gardens and Neverland and now it seemed that those would be the only places she'd ever be able to check off of her hypothetical list ever again.


	8. Chapter Six: Who's the Bad Guy

Emma was tossed over the shoulder of a burly man. Beneath her blindfold she could see nothing, except for the sparse bit of light that peeked from under the opening by her nose. This man seemed tall and strong, as he lifted her with one fail swoop and hung her over his muscular shoulder with so much as a huff of challenge. The ride- wherever he was taking her- was rough and bumpy, and she almost threw up with every jolt to her stomach as he walked. The pirates around her rattled on and chanted crude things. They had docked, she realized, about an hour ago. And now they were plunging deep into the crevices of the island.

Hook shouted orders at all of the men, though it sounded like he was far away. Smee echoed the orders as he had done on the ship before. They turned left and right sharply, and all the while managing not to stagger in their path. Though they were pirates, Emma had suspected they'd explored this island time and time again. They walked on for many miles, singing some songs of the open sea.

" _Me pretty large ship on thee crystal blue sea,_

 _Is all me captain wants for tha crew and for me._

 _Workin' up a lifetime, of scoundrel servitude,_

 _Cross the cap, and you'll be walkin' the plank in the nude._

 _As long as yer a workin', it pays off quite well!_

 _And the drink that yer drinkin' will always taste swell!_

 _But the ladies you find, well their mouths' always flappin,_

 _And their clothes, teeth, and hair are always miss-matchin'!_

 _They'll steal your purse of coin, and your manhood too,_

 _Those wenches they're a sneaky, and they leave ya feelin' blue!_

 _But don't ye worry lad, and rest yer toes in the sand,_

 _You'll never find a wench like this, or any, in Neverland!"_

When they ceased their infernal chanting, Emma thanked the gods. Even though she could not see, she could hear, and she wished it were the opposite. She begged the man carrying her to stop walking around so roughly or she'd be sick, but he laughed and continued on his tirade. Tree branches smacked her back as the pirate ducked around the shrubbery. She winced and whined with every scratch. Surely her back was scarred and bleeding by now.

"Onward men!" Hook shouted, twisting the lapels of his jacket between his fingers. He was stepping in the footsteps of the other pirates, not leading the pack, in case of an attack from the Lost Boys. "If I know our boy, he'll be looking for here high and low. Especially a beauty like she!" He yelled. And Emma felt the palm of a hand come slapping down on her behind. She stiffened in response and yelped.

"Excuse ME!" She yelled. "How dare you filthy pirates touch me in that manner! I am a lady and half your age, mind you!" She retorted. She looked around, to try and figure out from which direction her assailant came from, but to no avail, because of her blindfold.

A sweaty and bony hand secured her chin. And hot breath blew against her face as the man spoke to her. "Little lass, we're _pirates_. We can do what we want. And I, especially, as the captain, can do _whatever_ I please to _whomever_ I please!" He hushed at her threateningly. He tossed her face away roughly and she was swung around, still perched on a pirate's shoulder, and taken deeper into the brush.

The trees rustled above them in the wind, and Emma jumped every time a leaf or bug fell on her shoulders or to the middle of her back, thinking it was another slimy man touching her. It was only about an hour walk, but it seemed like she was on the man's shoulders for days. She had to breathe through her nose and out of her mouth to keep from vomiting. But she managed to pass the time by blindly examining the scar left on her hand. That Neverweed really had worked some miracles, though she'd probably have this bulging piece of flesh on her palm for the rest of her life in commemoration.

The troop stopped suddenly, a distant rumbling noise heard nearby. She heard each of the pirates whispering and questioning the sound. They almost simultaneously turned Hook and muttered the word 'Captain?' in lieu of lack of knowledge of the sound. Hook cleared his throat nervously, Emma heard. As the sound grew louder, and nearer, she could make out a few far-off shouts. It sounded almost like a stampede. The pirates began to panic and she heard cool metal become unsheathed from their holsters. But the noise kept getting louder and louder, and not she could hear battle cries, probably from the young band of boys she had encountered. _Fantastic_ , she thought. _Now I can go back to being served for dinner for the cannibal children._

Emma's heart stopped and stomach flew as she was dispensed roughly from the man's shoulder. She fell hard to the ground with a thud and rolled onto her back. All air had escaped her lungs and she gasped in pain. She heard hook shouting orders around at his crew.

"Stand your ground, men! They're stupid children!" He snarled. Emma wasn't able to fully recover before she was yanked to her feet by a fistful of her hair. She was blinded again, but this time by light as the blindfold was ripped from her sight and sunlight flooded into her irises. The handsome captain held her, she realized, in the grasp of his hook. He pulled her back to his chest and whispered into her ear. "Did you have this ambush planned, girl?" He questioned, angry spit drenching her face.

"Of course not!" She cried out. By her feet laid a bald man with rippling muscles and tattoos covering the whole of his body limp on the ground. In the middle of his torso, just below his sternum was a long and thick arrow. _This_ must've been the man who was carrying her. And _this_ must've been the reason he dropped her so suddenly. Blood spurted for several seconds out of his chest and mouth, before running out in a steady flow.

A loud chirping whistle was heard, followed by wolf howls, causing the crew to simmer. Hook shivered but maintained his allure. He tossed Emma to the side toward Smee, who caught her with outstretched arms. He wrapped his chubby fingers around her slim arms. Hook's hook was protruding into the thin air, a menacing look on his face. With his free-and only- hand, he removed his glistening long sword from its sheath and held it defensively by his side.

The stampede had stopped, and the air all around them grew silent. There were no rustling in the trees or bushes, and the wind had stopped. The howling and chirping subsided as well.

The captain pushed his tricorn up with the butt of his hook and smirked. "Oh Peter Pan, young _man_ , come out from hiding…" he coaxed, mockingly. A voice startled the captain and the crew, as it sounded other-worldly. It echoed through the jungle, and mirrored the captain's voice.

"Oh Peter Pan… master of Neverland… pirate killer… father of the Lost Boys…"

"Father!" Hook snarled back. "Father, you say?" He challenged. "C'mon Peter, you know the inevitable! To be a father you must be a man… and little ol Pan is becoming a-"

An arrow zooming through the air and wedging itself into a tree silenced Hook. It was similar to the arrow that had killed one of his men; it was long and thick and donned large feathers and twine around the base of the arrowhead. Hook smiled deviously. He knew he had gotten to the boy now. Hook looked back at Smee and Emma, who both stared around in wonder. Hook reached over and snatched Emma's arm, yanking her to his side. "And is _this_ your new mother, Pan? Is _this_ your new Wendy? She looks a little old for the job, doesn't she? Or are you more interested in women now, instead of girls?"

Again, another arrow was shot, splitting the previous one in half and sending splinters flying in every direction. The overpowering voice started again, though this time it didn't sound like Hook at all. "I'm no man!" he yelled. "And if you don't let her go Crawley is going to send a third arrow your way, and you'll be no more than a corpse with one hand!"

Hook shoved Emma back toward Smee, knowing he'd never get Pan to show himself by going for the obvious lure. Smee reached out to secure her, but Emma saw her opening. She dipped, Smee's old claws grasping at thin air. She maneuvered around him and tried to run for the treeline. An eruption of shouts and bodies of assorted sizes came bounding from cover. Young boys with their barbaric weapons crowded the crew, and an immediate sword fight-brawl started. Emma wrapped her arms across her chest as children and pirates whipped around her. She dodged flying and clanking swords and battle axes.

A dirty man from the crew seized her nightgown at the hem, and tried to pull her towards him, knowing full well that using her as a shield was probably his only way of surviving. Emma swung a fist toward his face, but he caught her wrist just before impact, and spun her around, wrapping his arm around her neck. A warm and watery substance soaked her shoulder just as soon as she was secured in his arms, and then his arms flopped to his sides. Emma spun around quickly, trying to catch her opportunity. But when she turned to face the man, a dagger was protruding through his neck, and blood trickled down his chest. She looked to her shoulder, finally seeing that this watery substance was bodily fluids from a pirate. The dagger slid backward out of the man's throat and he collapsed to the ground. On the other end of the steel, was the boy called Dimitri. His eyes bore into hers. He saved her; the boy who had previously maimed her.

"Duck!" He shouted all of a sudden, and she complied, shielding her head with her hands. He threw both of his handheld weapons toward another pirate who was storming Emma from behind. She withered out of range just as he hit the dirt. Farther off in the clearing she saw Peter, fighting with Hook. You could tell Hook was a fantastic swordsman, but he didn't hold a candle to Peter's swiftness and technique. Peter probably could kill him if he wanted, but Emma had an inkling that this was something of a sport to them both. Emma looked around, everyone seemingly preoccupied with fighting. the curly blonde boy from before was trying to ward off a few pirates who were surrounding him. His bow was knocked to the ground, which obviously crippled his defensive _and_ offensive skills. And he wrestled with a man three times his size. Emma watched in horror as she debated on stepping in to help the innocent lad. But he elbowed the pirate in the stomach and when he keeled over, the boy punched him in the jaw, completely discombobulating him. A bearded pirate not too far off from this scene set his sights on the small boy, though, and aimed a pistol at him. He pulled the trigger, but saw that his barrel was empty. Emma took off toward Crawley, while the pirate loaded his shot. "Boy!" She yelled in warning. Emma jumped, the pistol in her peripheral vision, and tackled the boy to the ground just as the shot went off. Most of the clearing stopped and turned to see what had happened, then quickly went back to fighting.

Dimitri sank a dagger into the gun-wielding pirate's back and sent him down as well. Emma stumbled to her feet and reached down to help Crawley up. He hooked hands with her and together they both stood next to each other. Crawley bent to pick up his bow and his cheeks burned red when his eyes met Emma's. "C'mon, lady," he said, taking her hand again. "Come this way. We will escape!" He whispered to her frantically. Emma looked around the clearing at the other boys, feeling a tinge of guilt for thinking of running away. But Crawley yanked on her, and led her away from the fighting.

They pummeled through the trees, branches scraping their arms and smacking their cheeks. They moved with ease over logs and under canopies until they finally came to a cliff. Emma had nearly kept running until she saw the drop off. She skidded to a stop behind the boy and instinctively looked over her shoulder. Crawley peeked over the ledge and bent down to secure a long and thick rope of vine. He tugged on it and gestured for Emma to come closer. "We have to climb down to get into the clubhouse," he explained. "We have to keep moving the entrance because Hook keeps finding our hideaways somehow."

Emma tip toed to the edge just as Crawley jumped and swung his small frame over the side. The girl gasped and dove to the ground to reach out and catch him. But as she laid, looking over the edge of the cliff, she saw the by looking back at her in wonder. He was scaling the cliff on the vine so effortlessly and fearlessly. He was so young, but still so brave. "Careful now," she coaxed.

"Cmon, it's not far down. Follow me!" He yelled up to her. Crawley set his feet on the rocky siding and pushed away from it. When he swung back towards the wall, Emma half expected to see him splat against it. But instead, he disappeared, the tips of willow leaves blowing out from behind him. Emma eased herself over the side, and began to climb down the vine. This was much like physical education class, where she has set the record in her school for fastest rope climb. Except when she looked down in class, she saw the faces of her peers, and when she looked down now, she saw pointed rocks far down below. She shimmied down further, until she saw the willow leaves just a few feet off to the right of her. She examined her surroundings, trying to remember how the boy had made it look so easy.

She blonde propped her bare feet up on the rock wall, and extended her legs slowly, then retracted at the knees slowly, testing how sturdy the vine would be if she tried to swing. She gently pushed herself off of the wall, but panicked at the light feeling that overcame her stomach. "Okay, Emma, you can _do_ this. You've made it this far in Neverland. You're not about to fall and plummet to your death now," she whispered quietly to herself, motivating as best she could. She swallowed hard and bent her knees again. And then she pushed off the wall hard, and leaned to the right. Her fingertips extended toward the willow leaves while her opposite hand and body clung to the vine. A small hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. Crawley's curls emerged and he pulled with all of his might. Emma swung her leg up into the crevice and let go of the vine once she knew she was safe. Between the two, she was pulled into safety.

She tumbled into the large room and rolled onto her back, adrenaline pumping. That was one of the scariest and most adventurous things she had ever done. She could have very well died or have been killed back in the clearing. But she managed to survive this awful dream. She laid on the floor for a few minutes thinking over the last few hours, wondering if this really could be real. When she regained consciousness of her surroundings, Emma sat up in the dimly lit room, surprised by what she saw. All around her, there were swords and weapons and armor donned on the walls, next to big game teeth and bones. There were animal fur rugs and wooden seats and a long feasting table with fruits and meats all on the table. A large chair at the head of the table was draped in a deep red cape with leather patches, and lined with fur from a raccoon. That must've been Pan's seat. There were doorways which probably lead to bedrooms and such for all of the boys who lived here. They lived inside the cliff. It was amazing, and she was immediately impressed with a large collection of books piled next to Pan's "throne". Of course, they looked dusty, but she imagined he had once looked through them before.

Crawley stripped his bow off and disappeared into one of the doorways. When he re-emerged, he held a very tattered teddy bear, missing both of its button eyes, and ripped at the seam on its side. He looked so young this way, even younger than before. Emma's heart ached for him. "You all live here?" She asked, still unable to tear her eyes from the walls.

"Yea, and so do you now…" he said, trailing off. He gestured to the table. "This was supposed to be a surprise. The lost boys got it together for you," he said, a bit disappointed that it didn't seem to go as planned. Emma half-smiled at the boy, but spun around when she heard hollers coming from outside of the cliff. One after another, boys swung into the clubhouse, tumbling on top of each other. Many of them stumbled to their feet when they saw her standing there and removed their hats out of respect, and some even bowed their heads. As they assembled, Dimitri and Peter swung into the room through the willow leaves. Peter pushed past his comrade and hurried over to Emma. He grasped her shoulders.

"Are you okay?" He asked. His eyes were soft, and Emma got lost in his boyish looks. He pinched her red ribbon. "Good thing you didn't lose this in the water. It's how Crawley spotted you aboard Hook's ship."

Emma looked back over her shoulder and smiled at a blushing Crawley. He hugged his bear close to his chest. She looked back to Peter, who still had his hand lingering close by her face. "I'm alright," she admitted. "But I'm afraid I need to go…" she said after. His eyes widened and he looked pained.

"No, no you can't go yet…" he pleaded. "There's only one time you can leave Neverland, isn't that right boys?" He lied, and all of the boys nervously nodded in agreement. "The full moon comes in a week… and that's the only time anyone's allowed to leave Neverland." Peter looked back at Dimitri, who had his arms crossed and a sour look on his face. Pan shot him a warning glance.

Emma's heart sank. She finally had gotten what she wanted-to leave home- and now all she wanted was to go back. But at least she was able to go home. She would just have to wait a week's time, if she'd survive that long. She sighed and looked around Peter toward the group of silent boys. She cleared her throat, and raised her eyebrows. Peter took note of her being uncomfortable and stepped to the side.

"Lost Boys, this is Emma! Emma, the Lost Boys," he introduced. Each of them bowed and smiled from ear to ear. Emma stepped toward them all and outstretched her hand. They all jumped to shake her hand first, knocking into each other and shoving one another to the side. The first hand that landed in hers was a chubby one. He looked a bit older than Crawley, but still one of the youngest of the group.

"I'm Emmorold," he introduced, his cheeks rosy and plump.

A taller, dark boy stepped forward and shoved Emmorold to the side. He twiddled a fox skin hat between his fingers. "Hi Emma, I'm Noah," he muttered. Emma held out her hand and Noah took it, and bowed and kissed her knuckles.

"Well hello to you two," she said with a smirk around to all of the boys. "There were so many more of you before.." she commented.

A slender boy of maybe 14 sauntered up. He had dark circles under his baby blue eyes but they were shaded by some shaggy brown hair that kept getting stuck in his eyelashes. "Yes, ma'am. Some of the boys from Tiger Lilly's tribe hunt and patrol with us. Hook'a been relentless."

Emma pushed the boy's hair out of his eyes. "I could fix this for you-" she stopped, prompting him for his name.

"Eamon, mum," he answered. _Oh_ , _he's from the UK, like me,_ she thought humbly.

"Well, Eamon, and all of you other boys, it is lovely to meet everyone," she introduced. "And if anybody could find me some shears, I could give you all haircuts before I leave," she offered. Emma heard their overwhelming swoll of gratitude, and was instantly swarmed by the boy's, who all hugged her and breathed in her scent. Emma felt bad for them. They were so without nurturing. She couldn't believe she ever thought these children would've eaten her. They were clearly wild, but misguided.

Peter shooed them off of her, and stood next to the table with his fists perched on his hips. A glittery light swirled in, and Emma recognized it immediately. This was _Tinkerbell_ , the mythical fairy who followed Peter everywhere he went. She landed on his shoulder and he smirked playfully at her. "Lost boys," he ordered. "Sit!"

The boys scrambled to their seats, at least six or seven of them in total fighting over which chair would be theirs for the feast. Dimitri, who had been lurking quietly in the corner, observing the patheticness of the lost boys, sat in the chair to the right of the head of the table, obviously his permanent seat. Emma was surprised to feel Peter's hand slip into hers, and pull her toward his seat. They stopped at the chair to the _left_ of the head, and he pulled it out for her, almost gentlemen like. Emma sat, across from Dimitri who was still eyeing her. He withdrew his daggers and stuck them hard into the table top.

All of the boys were already hands deep in the feast before Peter could sit down. He lowered himself into the seat and grabbed a wooden mug from the middle of the table. A red substance lapped over the side and splashed the table. He took a swig and handed the cup to Emma. She hid a smile and put the cup to her nose, taking a whiff. It was _wine_. The lost boys were all drinking _wine._ For a moment, Emma wondered how they came by this drink, but once she saw Dimitri uncork a bottle of what looked like rum, she figured the alcohol must've been ransacked from the pirates. Such young boys consuming alcohol was shocking for Emma. She had a sip of wine every Sunday at holy communion, and that was it. She knew she was too young to regularly consume alcohol. Even her parents strayed from the drink. She took a humbling sip, though, and handed it back to Peter, who polished it off.

Emma reached for rolls and slabs of meat in the middle of the table. The rolls were less warm than she hoped, but filled her. The meat was surprisingly sweet, and she could not place her finger on what kind of animal it came from. There were also small cakes being passed around at the lower end of the table between some of the younger boys. The chocolate caught her eye. Crawley noticed this and brought her down a few from his seat at the opposite end of the table. She smiled sweetly and squeezed his hand in gratitude before he went back to his seat, where he was beginning to be teased for his act of chivalry. Tinkerbell was near drunk on sweets, her little body only able to take so much sugar. She teetered from one end of the table to the other, tugging on the boys' hats and whispering funny things in their ears. Dinner time was one of her favorites, mostly because she was able to entertain all of the boys and have all of their attention.

The cake was warm and oozing fudge from the sides. On top there was chocolate icing and a thin layer of caramel. It smelled glorious, and it didn't take long to shove down Emma's throat. Her mouth was overly salivating with every bite. Chocolate; the one thing she loved more than the smell of her mother's gingerbread cookies. Dimitri sat quietly, picking his teeth with one of his daggers and eyeing Emma. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she finished off her dessert. Peter hadn't taken notice of the exchange, and instead was finishing his own plate. He set his hand over his stomach, which bloated some beneath his satisfied hunger. He staggered to his feet and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Lost Boys!" He hollered, clanking his mug down on the table. The boys halted their meals and waited respectfully for Peter's words. "Emma will be our guest here. She won't be here long but she is an honored guest just the same…" he said, trailing off. He looked uneasily in her direction. "She's Wendy lady's granddaughter so _no_ harm will come to her!"

Each of the boys nodded solemnly, ashamed that they had nearly tried to butcher her before. Emma twiddled her fingers in her lap, a bit uncomfortable. She felt equally as ashamed for thinking they'd _eat_ her when she really owed them all her life. Dimitri stood next to Peter and slammed his bottle of rum down onto the table top, startling the group.

" _I_ think," he began, looking around the room. "That one of us should pay a price for the near death of Emma," he offered. The boys around the table shifted uncomfortably and their faces heated with anxiety. Dimitri crossed his arms and met eyes with each boy individually, until he chose his victim. "Crawley," he called out. The young boy's face grew pale. "Weren't you the one who came upon the girl and brought her to my attention?" He questioned. All of the small heads turned to the blonde one that was profusely sweating at the end of the table.

"Well, yea Dimitri, but-"

"So if Crawley never spotted her or if he wouldn't have reported it, we all wouldn't have went after her…" Dimitri continued. He lifted a dagger from the table and tossed it between his hands.

Emma was sweating as well, her heart swelling for the poor boy. She didn't want him to be punished. How could any of them have known she'd be there in their territory? She looked up to Peter who was regarding Crawley and Dimitri both with intensity. His hand rested on the butt of his blade casually.

"So Peter, I think Crawley should face the consequences of his actions…" the dark haired boy explained.

Peter half shrugged and nodded. To him, this made sense. To Emma, this was harsh and a rash decision that none of the boys deserved. She realized how barbaric it all seemed, and for once noticed the cruelty of boys without a mother. They knew no other way to deal with life situations, and they had no sense of democracy. Peter unsheathed his sword, and the room tensed. All of the boys gripped their seats and stopped their breathing. Even Tinkerbell stopped her prancing about the table. She usually was up for anything Peter had in mind, but when his right hand made the decisions, things usually turned sour.

Noah was brave enough to pipe in. "Please, father," he pleaded. _Father?_ "Crawley won't let somethin like this happen again, will ya, boy?" He added, some tears welling but never falling.

The small blonde shook his head. "No, never, Peter. I'll never make a mistake agai-"

"Enough! Dimitri thinks you should be punished. And so it will be!" Pan ordered, gripping the sword tightly. He began his ascension toward Crawley but Emma hopped up and grabbed his arm.

"Peter, no!" She yelled, panicked. He glanced back at her, and saw that she was on the verge of tears. Dimitri boiled. "Peter, I don't _want_ that boy to be punished. None of this is his fault, or Noah's or Eamon's, nor any of the boys." Her chest filled with air, and she couldn't breath out of fear that she might lose control and begin to cry.

Pan looked back and forth around the room and saw the fear in everyone's eyes. He felt guilty, for once. He had punished many lost boys before. He was father to them all, and took that role of disciplinarian. He and Dimitri were both good at keeping the boys in line. He turned away from Emma with the intent of following through, but only for a moment. Her soft hand gripped his arm tighter and her cheek rested against his bare skin just below his shoulder. He looked down to her her holding to him, warding him not to go any further.

He sighed, defeated, and put his sword back in its holster. "Crawley will be forgiven this time. But no more harm will come to Emma, am I clear, lost boys?" He shouted. They all stood from their seats and saluted Pan, a 'Sir yes Sir!' escaping them simultaneously. Emma let go of Pan and hurried over to Crawley, who was holding his teddy to his chest and breathing heavily. She bent down and lifted him, though he was too big and old to be carried. He instinctively wrapped his legs around her waist and she held him up with her hands supporting his bottom. He crooned softly into her neck and she found herself caressing the back of his blonde curls.

Pan watched in awe, and then in awkward silence, as Crawley got a bit of nurture for the first time in Neverland. He cleared his throat and tossed his hand in the air. "Lost Boys, off with you. Chief Tiger Lily is waiting for us!" He commanded. The boys scattered, some toward the hidden hallways and others straight out of the cliff entrance. Emma and Crawley followed Emmorold down one of the hallways toward their rooms.

"Come, lady. You'll love Tiger Lily's pow wows. They're going to paint a warrior tonight!" He said, dragging the pair along.

They disappeared behind sheer curtains and out of sight. Peter sauntered toward the willow leaves once again, Dimitri grabbing him by the shoulder to halt him. The two exchanged a look they had never exchanged before. It was one of disagreement. They never disagreed on anything, and had watched over the boys together for years. They trusted each other with their lives.

"Pan, you should've punished him," Dimitri said, questioning his leader's judgement.

Peter scratched the back of his reddish locks. "I don't know, Dimitri. Maybe we've been doing this wrong…"

"Doing what wrong?" The dark boy asked in disbelief.

"Well, before, my lost boys loved Wendy. She was their mother. Maybe… well, maybe they need another mother again. Slitting their throats or gouging their eyes isn't the right thing anymore…" he admitted, shamefully, thinking of the past boys he's had to put down.

"And you think _that_ girl could be their mother?" Dimitri scoffed rhetorically. "She'll make them soft, like her. She'll try to make them men-"

"No," Peter snapped. "She will be mother and I will be father. And they will never have to grow up and be old. And we all need her." Pan loosened his grip on the butt of his blade that he hadn't noticed had been increasingly tight as the conversation flew by. He turned to leave.

"You mean _you_ need her," Dimitri muttered. Pan's head whipped around and he glared at his brother. He shoved Dimitri's chest and the boy stumbled backward.

"Don't question me," he warned.

"Or what, Pan? You'll have mother Emma hug me to death?"

Peter shuddered at the sudden thoughts that entered his mind. He had never felt so violently pent up before in his life. His fists balled and his knuckles whitened. He did not turn to face his partner this time. "Or I'll hang you, Dimitri. Don't question my authority again. And stay away from her," he warned. Pan took flight, Tink following closely behind. Even _she_ didn't like being left alone with Dimitri sometimes.

But the dark haired boy straightened up, cracked his neck, and shook out his shoulders. He was ready for a fight, though Peter didn't let it turn into one. He jammed his daggers angrily into the table once more, huffing. Why did Peter get all the glory, and the girls, and the title of _father_? He couldn't even do it right, as far as Dimitri was concerned. As he sat there, though, terrible thoughts crossed him, and he pictured Emma the way no boy ever should. He began to mentally undress her, and then he imagined his daggers sinking deep into her hands, into her throat… into her heart. She was beautiful, and _that_ is what Peter wanted now. He was becoming a man by the day while she was around. It would never be like it was before now that Emma was here in Neverland. And Dimitri would be okay with that, as long as he was the new Pan…

… and as long as he could have _her_.


End file.
